Free The Perfect Host by Theodore Sturgeon Page B

enough to overcome man’s distrust of himself. Not at first.
    But the die-hards yielded, gradually and with misgivings, and acquainted the people with the menace that faced them. There was little dangerous panic—controls were too tight to allow for it—but after the first thrill of excitement there came a unanimous demand for a plan of action which was too powerful to ignore.
    Bulletins were posted hourly on the amplitude of the Jansky signals. As Dr. Simmons had pointed out, there were three sets of them, and it became increasingly evident that the three sources were in V formation, and coming fast—much faster than the first one had.
    “They’ll box us,” said Colonel Simmons. “There won’t be any circling this time. They’ll take up equidistant positions around the planet, out of our range, and they’ll fire at will.”
    “I think you’re right,” said his brother. “Well, that gives us two kinds of defense. They’re both puny, but it’ll be the best we can do. One’s technological, of course. I don’t know exactly which direction would be the best to take. We can build ships ourselves, and attack them in space. We can try to develop some kind of shield against their bombs, or whatever else they use against us. And we can try to build seeking torpedoes of some sort that’ll go out and get ’em—bearing in mind that we might be out there ourselves sometime soon, and we don’t want to fall prey to our own weapons.”
    “What’s the other defense?”
    “Sociological. In the first place, we must decentralize to a degree heretofore impossible. In the second place, we must pool our brains and our physical resources. No nation can afford to foot the bill of this kind of production; no nation can afford to take the chance of by-passing some foreign brain which might help the whole world. Leroy, stop puckering up like that! You look as if you’re going to cry. I know what’s bothering you. This looks like the end of professional militarism. Well, it is, in the national sense. But you have a bigger enemy than ever before, and one more worthy of the best efforts of humanity. You and your Board have been doing what seemed to be really large thinking. It wasn’t, because its field was too small and too detailed. But now you have something worth fighting. Now your plans can be planetary—galactic—cosmic, if you like. Don’t hanker after the past, soldier-boy. That attitude’s about the only way there is to stay small.”
    “That’s quite a speech,” said the colonel. “I … wish I could argue with it. If I admit you’re right, I can only admit that there is no solution at all. I don’t believe the world will ever realize the necessity for cooperation until it’s too late.”
    “Maybe it will. Maybe. I remember once talking to an old soldier who had been in the First War. In his toolshed he had a little trench shovel about eighteen inches long—a very flimsy piece of equipment it was. I remarked on it, and asked him what earthly good it was to a soldier. He laughed and said that when a green squad was deployed near no man’s land and ordered to dig in, they gabbled and griped and scratched and stewed over the job. And when the first enemy bullets came whining over, they took their little shovels and they just
melted
into the ground.” He chuckled. “Maybe it’ll be like that. Who knows? Anyway, do what you can, Leroy.”
    “You have the strangest sense of humor,” growled the colonel, and left.
    They came.
    The first was just a shape against the stars. It could be heard like a monster’s breath in a dark place:
wsh-h-h-t wsh-h-h-t wsh-h-h-t
on the sixty-megacycle band, where before nothing had been heard but the meaningless hiss of the Jansky noise. But it could not be seen. Not really. It was just a shape. A blur. It did not reflect radar impulses very well; the response was indeterminate, but indicated that it was about the size and shape of the mysterious bomber which had dealt the